


A Stormy Sea of Moving Emotion

by Aerica_Menai



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I'm probably way over-tagging but better safe than sorry), Abusive John Winchester, Acephobia, Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Asexuality Spectrum, F/M, Homophobic John Winchester, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, accidental (non-graphic) voyeurism on Cas' part, biromantic lesbian!Jess, brief consensual sexual encounter between Dean and an OMC, demiromantic gray-bisexual!Dean, grayromantic ace!Cas, slight (non-graphic) mention of ritualistic murder, slight mention of a (non-reciprocated) sexual interest of a 19 year old towards Cas and Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerica_Menai/pseuds/Aerica_Menai
Summary: After surviving their fight with the siren in “Sex and Violence” (S4 E14), Sam has some questions for Dean…leading to research, identity revelations, more questions, more identity revelations, Sam getting to (metaphorically) lock Cas and Dean in a closet until they kiss and even find his own partner to kiss. Mostly in that order.





	A Stormy Sea of Moving Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> First things first, all the thanks in the world to grayraincurtain and bellatemple, my amazing betas who made sure this fic, the longest thing I've ever written, came out with minimum errors - and even came out at all. I can't thank you enough <3
> 
> Written for the Ace SPN Mini Bang - thanks to the mods for hosting it, it's been great!
> 
> Title from Carry On My Wayward Son by Kansas.
> 
> Note: Yes, this fic is (vaguely) set in S4. However, readers will note that I also could not stop myself from including the bunker, and it’s too intertwined in the plot now to take it out. Please suspend your disbelief or at least accept that this is a strange AU setting where the boys somehow discovered the bunker and all its angel warding the season they really, really needed it without learning any of the history behind it.

While driving towards their next destination, after surviving their encounter with the siren (thanks to Bobby’s timely intervention), Sam couldn’t help thinking about the siren’s appearance for Dean. For all the other victims, the siren was a sexual conquest, using sex to seduce the victim into killing their most important loved one; yet, in Dean’s case, the siren was a platonic companion. The more Sam thought about it, the less it made sense. Dean had always been driven by his sexual urges, for as long as Sam could remember; why wouldn’t the siren have taken advantage of that habit?

Sam couldn’t figure it out, but even though he knew it would almost certainly be useless, he had to at least try to quench his burning curiosity; he had to ask.

“…Hey, Dean?” Sam asked over the blare of Black Sabbath.

Dean looked over and saw the look on Sam’s face, rolling his eyes at his brother’s never-ending questions but he still turned down the music. “What is it, Sammy? Might as well hit me now, before I change my mind.”

Sam grinned and took advantage of the opportunity he wasn’t expecting; Dean must still feel guilty for getting tricked by the siren so easily. “Dean, no offense, but you’ve been sleeping with just about every attractive woman within a hundred mile radius for as long as I can remember; why do you think that the siren’s form didn’t take advantage of your…you know.”

If Sam didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought that Dean was actually squirming at the question. “I mean, come on Sammy, what does it even matter? You’re the most important person in my life, so it just automatically took the place of my brother and went from there. Totally makes sense.”

Sam squinted dubiously. “Yeah, but that’s the part that’s so weird, Dean – it makes sense for the siren to be a sexual partner when the victims had to off their wives, but when it came to the guy taking care of his mom – the siren still was a sexual partner, not a platonic one. I don’t think that explains why the siren didn’t decide to take on another stripper form and transfer the venom to you during sex like she did with all the other victims. Why not take advantage of the prime opportunity?”

Dean huffed out a breath and retorted (entirely unconvincingly), “I don’t know, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam was flabbergasted. “Holy crap. You do know why. You know why and you don’t want to tell me. What the hell, Dean? Just spit it out.”

“I can’t.” Dean muttered.

“Bullshit –“

“No Sam, really, I don’t think I can.” Dean interrupted. “I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it to myself, dude, much less other people!”

Sam was quiet for a second, absorbing that revelation, before carefully asking, “Explain what?”

Dean scoffed angrily. “I don’t know, Sammy, maybe the fact that the sex you think I’m always having? I’m not…I’m not actually having most of it.” Sam’s jaw dropped in shock. “Yeah, I know, surprise.” He was quiet for a few minutes before going on. “I mean, getting numbers is easy – obviously, look at me,” he gestures, “but a lot of the time, I just say that I’m out with a girl and then go hang out at a diner, or a bar or some other place.”

Dean quickly continued, “And it’s not like I never have sex, dude – I’ve scarred you enough that you know that’s not true!” He laughed as Sam shuddered. “But it’s not something I do often, just…a way to scratch the itch when it shows up. When it doesn’t, no big deal, I just go out to hang; when it does, great, find a hot body to sleep with.”

Sam couldn’t help it; he knew Dean was probably not going to be happy for him asking, but he had to. “Hot body? As in, not just girls, Dean? Which is absolutely fine, by the way,” he hurried to say. “No judgment, you should be free to love who you love and gross me out with all kinds of sexual exploits,” he chuckled nervously, glancing at Dean to see how he was taking this new line of questioning.

Dean went pale for a moment before shaking it off. “Caught that too, huh, Sammy? Not that I should be surprised.” He paused, and then quietly added, “Yeah, men and women. Not really interested in dating guys, but I definitely get the urge to sleep with a guy every now and then.”

Sam scoffed. “I know at least one guy you’re interested in dating.”

Dean flushed bright red. Sam didn’t even know he could do that! “Well – ” Dean started to sputter.

Sam just rolled his eyes. “Save it for someone who might actually be fooled, Dean – you have such a crush on Cas, people can see it from the moon. I am curious why you haven’t made a move… it’s pretty clear he’s into you too.”

Dean, having mostly calmed down during Sam’s speech, just shrugged. “It’s not like it could ever go anywhere, I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining this shit to Cas – he has trouble understanding even the basics of uncomplicated straight relationships, much less the shitshow my love life is and probably will always be. It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

Sam knew better than to believe that, but let it go for the moment. Dean was probably at his limit for emotional discussions for the next month at least; and Dean’s description had reminded him of almost-forgotten discussions he’d had at Stanford. Sam had research to do.

{***}

Dean might not know exactly how to describe his attraction to other people, but a lot of what Dean had said rang a bell from back when Sam and Jessica attended Stanford’s GSA; there was a guy who had said a lot of similar things to what Dean had, describing himself as asexual. Sam started at the resource that sounded vaguely familiar: AVEN. It had stuck because the guy had described it as a haven for ace people, then laughed at the unintentional rhyme.

But as Sam had hoped, it was the perfect launching pad for figuring out that not only was Dean not alone, there were plenty of words to help him explain what he felt. The site had grown quite a bit from what Sam remembered the asexual guy mentioning, but that was a good thing – more people meant more resources and more explanations to help Dean realize that he wasn’t as weird as he thought he was; 1% of the population sounded small, but crunch that into numbers and it was around 70 million people! He started printing out the resources he thought would be most helpful to Dean, preparing to explain the next time Dean was open to having a heart-to-heart.

{***}

It took a lot less time than Sam anticipated. Although, he really shouldn’t have been shocked – they had been due for another uncomfortably close brush with death; their last had been almost a month ago, after all. In any case, both brothers had once again pulled through, although Sam felt like he had been dragged through two different meat grinders and then attacked by a stab-happy clown with a grudge: sore all over, multiple pulled muscles, covered in plenty of semi-healed cuts, and shaking off his recent terror. Damn those fucking serial killers that seemed drawn to him and his brother like magnets.

Dean, of course, was consumed with guilt that Sam had been taken from right under his nose – again – and was waiting on him hand and foot. As part of that, he was finding yet another book Sam had requested, one that was not on the bookshelf as Sam had instructed, but instead had been taken to his room (and promptly forgotten there in the wake of discovering a new case). There were whole stacks of them in there; it was amazing Dean was able to find the one Sam needed so quickly. Dean did notice, as he started the walk back to the bunker’s main room (and Sam’s new room, for all intents and purposes, until Dean finally got over his guilt enough to bully Sam into a real bed, but whatever), that the book had a large sheaf of papers sticking out. Curious, Dean pulled out the top sheet – only to screech to a halt when he read the title up at the top. “Demi, gray or full-on ace: you are not immature, you are not broken, and most importantly, you are not alone.” …What the hell?

Sam was not expecting Dean to practically stomp back to his (temporary) desk, but he also winced internally as he realized Dean had come back from the direction of his room instead of the direction of the library, where he had told Dean he would find the book. “Dean, man, I’m so sorry – ” he began to apologize, only to shut up when Dean practically slammed the book on the table in front of him – and slammed the packet of papers (the ones he had forgotten he stored there) on top even harder. “…Oops.” Sam muttered.

“Oops? OOPS? What the hell, Sam? You go through all the trouble of making me explain what the hell is wrong with me, and it turns out the whole time you had answers?” Dean snarled.

“Whoa, whoa, that – that is not remotely what happened.” Sam protested. “First of all, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” Dean snorted, but before he could say anything, Sam steamrolled on. “If you actually read all of those papers, and didn’t just skim some of the titles, you’d know that asexuals – the umbrella term for people who feel similarly to how you do, by the way – make up around 1% of the population. That’s 70 million people. You are not alone – you’re different, yes, but hell, Dean, what on earth about us has ever been normal? And on that note,” Sam added, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to you sooner about all this, but I only started looking into terminology and explanations AFTER you mentioned your feelings to me, not before.” He paused, giving Dean a chance to respond, but his older brother had the glazed look of trying-to-process-unfamiliar-emotions (which usually only appeared when dealing with those of the extremely positive variety) and so forged on. “Look, based on the definitions you found and what you described to me, I think you’re demiromantic – that is, only developing romantic feelings for people you forge an intimate emotional bond with – and gray-bisexual – meaning you’re sexually attracted to both men and women, but only rarely. Or, at least, not on a regular basis.” When Dean still didn’t say anything, Sam rolled his eyes and waved a hand in front of Dean’s face. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Dean jumped back suddenly, grabbed the stack of papers and thrust them in Sam’s face. “I’m still angry at you,” he growled, before turning to stride out of the room. But before he left, he paused and quietly whispered, “Thank you,” before continuing on his way. Sam smiled when he heard it, before leaving Dean to his reading and getting back to his own – especially now that he had that book he needed.

{***}

Three hours later, Dean walked back in and sat down in front of Sam. “So. Demiromantic gray-bisexual.”

Sam nodded, still distracted by the book in front of him. “Mmhmm,” he muttered.

Rolling his eyes – his brother was SUCH a geek – Dean yanked the book from in front of Sam and shoved it down the table. “Hey, I was reading that,” Sam protested weakly.

Dean glared. “Sammy, focus,” he snapped. That got Sam’s attention. Dean took a deep breath.

“I’m glad you knew what to research and helped me figure out – all of this,” Dean handwaved to indicate the journey of romantic and sexual attraction knowledge he had just been on. “But I gotta ask, Sammy – how did you know?”

Sam shrugged. “I mean, Jessica and I attended the GSA at Stanford pretty religiously – we both believed that who you loved or how you loved shouldn’t be this hot-button issue, and we wanted to be supportive, so we made sure to educate ourselves and attend all the sessions to learn as much as we could. One of the regulars there was a guy who called himself asexual – meaning he wasn’t sexually attracted to people – and he mentioned a resource called AVEN. That’s where I started looking for people who felt like you did about relationships and sex, and it turns out – like I said earlier, Dean – you’re not nearly as weird as you think.”

Dean chuckled morosely. “Yeah, I guess not.”

Sam frowned. “What’s the matter? I thought you’d be…happier.”

Dean just smiled sadly. “Sam, this is all great, but may I remind you – even if I explain this all to Cas, for all we know angels aren’t attracted to humans at all, and you’re just imagining that he’s into me because we don’t understand how angel attraction works.”

Sam just smiled confidently. “So we put a bunch of resources like this in front of him and figure out how his attraction works. Easy.”

{***}

Except Cas was proving a lot more stubborn than anticipated. Every time Sam tried to ask Cas any personal questions, show Cas a new packet of information or – now – even think about how best to get Cas talking (Dean claimed thinking brought about his “extremely obvious scheming face,” which wasn’t even a thing, Dean, what the hell), no dice. Cas just scowled at him (Dean called it Cas’ “not-impressed” face and jeez, Dean needed to stop naming people’s random facial expressions) and fluttered off into thin air. Damn angels and their extremely inconvenient ability to disappear.

Sam couldn’t help thinking to himself, Wow, he and Dean really are made for each other. First he couldn’t get Dean to open up about his feelings, now he couldn’t get Cas to either. Cut from the same stubborn cloth, Sam thought as he wryly shook his head. But no matter. Sam out-stubborned Dean, Sam could out-stubborn an angel of the lord – especially when his brother’s happiness was on the line.

{***}

Castiel wasn’t sure what caused Sam’s new obsession with his “romantic and sexual orientation,” but it needed to stop. Castiel could only dodge Sam’s questions for so long, until he was worn down enough to actually answer honestly – that he thought he was the first angel to ever be attracted to a human, that he was broken somehow and it wasn't like Dean would ever be interested in a “dick with wings,” as he called him and his kind, and – Castiel ruthlessly stopped his train of thought there.

It didn’t matter. Whatever he felt, it didn’t matter – stopping the world from ending was their number one priority. Everything else would have to wait until that goal had been achieved – or, if Castiel was being honest with himself, never, actually, never worked just fine. He and Dean were fine, Sam just needed to stop trying to ask him questions he didn’t want to answer and then he could just focus on what he needed to do.

{***}

But rather than focus on the vastly important impending apocalypse, Castiel was incredibly distracted by Dean’s frequent disappearances. They were a security hazard, he had to make sure that Michael’s chosen vessel was safe and not exposed, not vulnerable to attack by either demons or other angels. (And it had nothing to do with his inner screaming Dean has to be safe, Dean will be safe, I have to make sure of it, of course not, that would be absurd.) So, Castiel braced himself to have a conversation with Sam. Hopefully he could outmaneuver Sam and get the information he wanted without having to reveal anything himself. He was an angel of the lord, he could outthink one stubborn human.

{***}

When his Father had made the Winchesters, he must have used up all the excess stubbornness he had left and given it to them. Sam refused to say anything about Dean’s trips until Castiel opened up about his attractions or whatever. “Fair is fair, Cas,” Sam had explained, all wide-eyed innocence. “This is really personal information for Dean, you have to be willing to give up some personal information too.” When Castiel refused, explaining that his personal information was inconsequential while Dean’s was important to maintaining his safety and personal health, Sam just smirked at him. “Go on, tell Dean that, I dare you.”

So Castiel did. He was not expecting Dean to flush a deep red, yell at Castiel to “tell Sammy to keep out of my damn business, Cas, it’s none of your business or his,” and slam the door on his way out on another one of his unsafe trips. Castiel slowly turned around to see Sam smirking and leaning against the doorway to the main room of the bunker. “I’ve offered you a deal, Cas, let me know when you’re ready to take me up on it.” And with that, he disappeared back into the hallway towards his room.

Castiel held out for almost two months, the curiosity burning through him going from a small blaze to a roaring wildfire, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know, which meant he had to talk to Sam – and talk about his feelings. This was something to be feared, but it was the only way forward, and Castiel was no coward.

He had to admit to a thread of nervousness in his voice when he asked Sam if he had the time to talk – after Dean had headed out again, ostensibly for a “beer run” but, as always, taking much longer than such a task should reasonably take. (Castiel had even gone on his own “beer run” to compare and ensure he was not being, as Dean had said once, a “paranoid mother hen.”)

Sam smiled. “I’m happy to talk to you, Cas – but only if you really want to. I don’t want to force this conversation on you – I know it may feel like I’m holding it over your head, but I promise, if you really don’t feel comfortable talking to me, I can still tell you a little of what’s going on with Dean.”

Castiel stared. This was not a tactic he had expected. “So, to be clear, you want me to want to talk to you, and if I don’t, you will only tell me a part of what I am seeking to know.” He paused in confusion. “I do want to talk to you though, obviously, so that I can learn why Dean goes out on his trips.”

Sam blew out a breath and thought for a minute. “What I mean, Cas, is that what personal information you tell me about yourself is, well, personal. You may not feel comfortable sharing it yet, and that’s okay. I do want you to know that the reason Dean’s making these trips is also very personal – and he wouldn’t want you to know such personal information about him, without also understanding some personal information about you – which, if what I’m thinking is right, is a large part of the reason you’re so curious about Dean.”

Castiel tried to keep his expression of indifference, but based on Sam’s suddenly gentle smile, he definitely failed.

“If you’re worried about any reaction I might have, or Dean might have, I promise Cas, we won’t judge,” Sam said earnestly. He paused for a second. “Well. I won’t. Dean might say some stupid things at first, but at the end of the day, he thinks you’re awesome, and it’s going to take a LOT to even start to change that opinion.”

Castiel felt – warm. Despite their rather shaky start, the Winchester brothers had grown very close to Castiel and accepted him – perhaps, they would even accept him despite his newfound flaws, unlike the rigid angel society.

There was only one way to find out.

Castiel took a deep breath, and started to explain.

{***}

Cas’ explanation was sadly simple: the angel community was entirely aroace and quick to turn on non-conformers, which is exactly what Cas discovered he was after he came to Earth and – basically – imprinted on Dean. He was interested in a romantic and potentially a sexual relationship, but only with Dean. (Sam snorted to himself; you could say Cas was Dean-sexual.) But at the end of the day, despite his attachment to Dean, Cas’ actions were driven by the information angel society had taught him: being different was wrong, people were quick to reject what is wrong, and thus it was a certainty that Sam – and more importantly, Dean – would be disgusted by his admission of attraction, his admission of being different, and cut him out of their lives.

On the one hand, Sam was horrified that Cas thought that they would be so cruel; but on the other hand, Cas had experienced nothing else in Heaven. He couldn’t fathom another outcome because he had never known anything else.

Sam was quick to reassure Cas that neither he nor Dean would reject him for his “unnatural” urges. “In fact,” Sam explained, “it would be incredibly hypocritical. A lot of human relationships are based on attraction, whether it be platonic, romantic or sexual. For example,” Sam added, “you and I, Cas, are platonically attracted to one another. We enjoy each other’s company and seek it out, but don’t desire any romantic or sexual acts from each other. Right?” Sam waited for Cas’ slow nod before continuing. “I’m attracted to women, both sexually and romantically – what most people call heterosexual, attracted to the opposite sex, or just ‘straight’ – while Dean is attracted to both men and women sexually, but only rarely, and only romantically attracted to people he has a close bond with. People would call Dean a demiromantic gray-bisexual.”

Sam watched as Cas absorbed all of that information, before cautiously asking, “And what would you – or other people – call me?”

Sam smiled. “I’d say that like Dean, you’re graysexual – rarely sexually attracted to people – but also grayromantic, in that you’re rarely romantically attracted to people. I have to say, Cas, you and Dean definitely have compatible attractions.”

Sam didn’t even know it was possible, but he wasn’t imagining things – across the table from him, Cas was blushing. It was pretty adorable. But not as adorable as Cas trying desperately to change the subject, stuttering, “S-so, what do Dean’s attractions have to do with all of his long trips?”

Sam took a deep breath. “First of all, Cas, you have to understand that while angels are almost 100% aroace, from what you’ve described, humans are basically the opposite. It’s actually rare to be asexual – only an estimated 1% of the human population can be described as ace, and it’s an even smaller percentage that are aroace. Especially here in the US – and especially for men,” Sam stressed, “there’s a lot of pressure to be sexually active and broadcast your sexual prowess.” When Cas just blinked at him, Sam elaborated, “You know, how many people you’ve slept with.” Cas couldn’t contain the disgusted expression his face twisted into, and Sam couldn’t contain his subsequent laughter. “Oh man, your FACE,” he chuckled.

He quickly grew serious again. “The reason I’m telling you this is to help explain why Dean…does what he does. For a long time he was under Dad’s roof – and as an actual straight dude who lived under his roof, let me tell you: it was hard. He had really high expectations, about everything – up to and including Dean’s sexual exploits. Dean isn’t straight, but he felt like he needed to pretend he was to…well, to fit the mold Dad set for us. Dad was in the military, he wasn’t the most open-minded of people, to put it mildly, and Dean just found a way to be himself without letting Dad – or me – know any differently, which says a lot about how smart he is, as much as he might try to hide or ignore it. But anyway: basically, Dean would say that he had a date, and just – go out. Go hang out at a bar, go sit in a diner with his true loves: burgers and pie… but spend time out, come back and tell Dad and I what a great time he had with this girl he was out with, and – we bought it. Hook line and sinker. And I think, old habits die hard. Even though he’s explained to me now what he’s doing, I think he’s used to getting that time to himself – and he likes it. I have to tell you, Cas,” and Sam paused to look Cas straight in the eyes. “I think he needs it. He’s been through a lot, and this is one way he knows how to cope – don’t you think he deserves that?”

Slowly, grudgingly, Cas nodded.

Sam smiled. “Awesome. That said, I agree that Dean going out alone is not exactly the safest thing to do, so: I propose a compromise that will hopefully be acceptable to both parties.”

Cas listened, and smiled, and agreed.

{***}

When Dean heard what compromise Sam and Cas had agreed on – and were hoping Dean would just lie down and take, apparently – he whirled on Sam, glaring, and spat, “You didn’t!”

Sam just smirked. “You know I did.”

Castiel was confused, but as this was a normal feeling to get around the Winchesters, he just ignored it.

Dean was stuck: if he insisted on going out of the bunker for his trips, then he had to take Sam or Cas with him. No exceptions.

(Sam was willing to bet Dean was pissed enough at him that he’d only want Cas’ company for at least a few weeks. And that would guarantee that Dean and Cas would be getting some quality time together. Check and mate.)

{***}

At first, Dean silently glared at his new babysitter through the entirety of their trips. Cas followed his lead, just quietly sitting across from Dean as he chowed down on a bacon cheeseburger and pie, or sitting in the bar with a view of the pool tables as Dean thrashed someone at pool, or – whatever, the point was Dean was getting tired of the silent staring, but he didn’t know how to stop it, either.

Castiel, meanwhile, followed Dean’s lead and stayed as quiet as he did. No questioning the many, many aspects of diner and bar culture that he didn’t understand, no questions about Dean himself and how he was doing – no, none of that. It seemed that Dean needed some silence, and Castiel was happy to provide. But eventually, Castiel just had to ask.

“Dean, why does everyone keep putting coins in that brightly-colored box?”

Dean just stared at him. “You’re shitting me.”

Cas stared back. “What does defecation have to do with my question?”

Dean waved a hand, pushing aside the question. “That’s not important, it’s a saying. What is important here, is – Cas, have I never explained jukeboxes to you??”

Cas shook his head.

Dean gaped. “This is a grave oversight and needs to be corrected IMMEDIATELY. Come on!” And so saying, he yanked Cas away from his burger and dragged him over to the jukebox, where he proceeded to explain about jukeboxes – and of course, the best music to be played on jukeboxes – until Cas not only understood, but could probably consider himself an expert on the subject.

{***}

And thus, Dean and Cas’ trips became more like excuses for Dean to educate Cas on “necessary” aspects of human culture. (Every time they left, Dean chattering excitedly to a quiet but also clearly interested Cas, Sam gave himself a smug mental pat on the back; he was so good at this.)

However, Dean had to admit, after a couple months, trips with Cas started to get a little…old. Rather than the fun adventures they used to be – an exploration of Cas’ expressions as he experienced something new and had the chance to gain knowledge of this brand new world – they were starting to wear on him. When Cas had questions, Dean had to push past his knee-jerk reaction of “that’s just the way it is” and actually think about why that was the way it was. At some point, all the thinking from a new and different perspective stopped being interesting and became just plain exhausting. No offense meant to Cas, but these trips were supposed to be relaxing, not adding to his fatigue.

Not to mention, the few times his sexual desires had flared up, he couldn’t deal with them when Cas was there – it was just too weird. He had feelings and desire for Cas, but he knew that the angel was almost certainly not interested, and even on the tiniest chance he actually was, there was no way he was ready to deal with – nor did he deserve to deal with – Dean’s wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am-or-man style of therapeutic sex.

But Dean didn’t want to offend Cas by trying to explain it and saying things he didn’t really mean, like he always ended up doing – he’d rather just sneak out and get his therapeutic sex without Cas knowing.

He should have known that his life was never that easy.

{***}

When Castiel saw Dean leave the bunker in the middle of the night, he quietly followed, thinking Dean is just trying to relax without having to answer Castiel’s million questions. Very well, Castiel would just quietly observe, so as to give Dean his time away while also ensuring that he was protected. It wasn't like much would change, Castiel thought. Perhaps a quieter night on Dean’s end as he didn’t have to converse with Cas, or perhaps a far more conversational night, as he had multiple people to talk to and no one accompanying him to focus his attention on one person.

Except, as Castiel watched, Dean didn’t just “hang out” the way he and Castiel did – he did visit the bar, as they both had, but rather than heading towards the pool tables, he sought out the company of a tall, dark-haired and blue-eyed man. He whispered something incoherent in Dean’s ear, something about his “fantastic buns” needing some…”sausage filler”? Dean usually preferred bacon to sausage when given the choice, so Castiel wasn’t sure why the man’s comments caused Dean to laugh and gesture for the man to follow him outside. (They had been discussing food, why would they need to go outside when there was a perfectly good menu for food inside the bar?) Out there, they proceeded to… well, Castiel was not sure what to call what they did, but it looked uncomfortable and an awful lot like eating each other’s faces while sticking their hands in unsanitary locations of the human body. It took a while to process, but when Cas finally understood, he blushed beet red and flew back to the bunker.

If that was sex, Castiel really had no interest in it. As quickly as he realized this about himself – perhaps he wasn’t graysexual, as Sam assumed, but entirely asexual? – Castiel realized a far more important fact: if he had no interest in sex, but Dean did…how could they possibly have any sort of relationship? He could not and would not stand to share Dean with others who could fulfill his sexual needs; but how could he possibly ask Dean to stop trying to fulfill his sexual desires by committing himself to Castiel either?

The realization of the futility of any romantic or sexual relationship with Dean hit him painfully. No matter Castiel’s feelings for Dean – that there was no one else, no other possible partner that could make him feel this way – there was no way that Castiel could reveal those feelings to Dean, forcing Dean to either reject them or change in response to them to make Castiel happy. He resolved to stop indulging in his desire for Dean. He would start distancing himself in the morning, after Dean returned. He would take the night to grieve what he was vainly hoping might have been, before strengthening his heart and mind for the battle ahead. He could do anything for Dean – even break his own heart, now that he knew he had one to break.

{***}

Dean snuck back into the bunker, feeling refreshed from his one night stand…even if he also felt a little guilty for feeling that way. But Sam and Cas never needed to know that he broke their rule, or that he felt a little bit like he had cheated on Cas...

For now, he was just going to enjoy his relief and assuage his guilt by taking Cas out that night to do something new – get to see yet another new expression from Cas, hopefully. He’d have to think of what he could do with Cas that was still new…maybe that roller skating rink a couple towns over? It was a bit of a drive, which was the main reason they hadn’t visited yet, but Cas would probably love it…and he would love watching Cas love it. So that decided it – he’d ask over breakfast.

For now, though, he was going to get some sleep. He was sure he’d have a long night of roller skating and explanations in front of him…and he couldn’t wait.

{***}

At breakfast, Cas looked grumpier than his usual morning fatigue; good thing Dean had an especially good trip plan up his sleeve.

But when he asked Cas what he was doing that night – a bit of a ritual, since Cas never had any plans other than the trips that Dean suggested, but it always made him happy to be asked – rather than the expected excitement and questions about where they were going, Cas simply responded with a short, almost cold, “Nothing.”

Surprised, Dean blurted out, “…What? Nothing? You’re not…coming on a trip with me?”

Cas hesitated slightly before straightening his spine and responding, “No. I have other plans.” Apparently considering this enough of a response – or knowing that neither Dean nor Sam would accept it as such – he fluttered off.

Dean just stared. “What…what the hell just happened?” he muttered, right as Sam rounded on him in (semi-righteous) fury.

“Dean, what the hell did you DO?”

For once, Dean had no idea. It couldn’t have been his sneaking out, he was too careful to make sure Cas didn’t know… and Sam certainly didn’t need to know. So he shrugged. “Whatever it is, he’ll get over it soon enough.”

{***}

Except he didn’t. And then Dean started moping.

And Sam could NOT deal with the oppressive silence that had started to infiltrate not only all corners of the bunker, but also the outside trips that Sam accompanied Dean on. Now, instead of having interesting conversations with Cas, Dean just wanted to either drown himself in drink, sleep with anything that moved, or some combination of the two – none of which was any good for his health or any possible reconciliation with Cas.

This was getting out of hand – Sam needed to do some damage control, and fast.

{***}

As hard as it would be to pin down Dean and force him to have a conversation, it was infinitely easier than trying to pin down the teleporting angel; so Sam started with Dean. He lured him to the kitchen with the smell of coffee, sizzling bacon and a cooking omelet (including more bacon, of course). Dean was hungover but his holy grail of hangover cures was too much to resist.

Sam poured him a mug of coffee, but withheld the omelet and bacon until Dean promised to talk to him about what was going on.

Dean just stared at him in bleary betrayal. “Way to kick a man when he’s down,” he grumbled, making pitiful grabby hands at the loaded plates Sam was holding.

But Sam was relentless. “If you want any chance of figuring out what the hell happened with Cas, you need to talk to me ASAP. And you know it.”

Dean grumbled for a little bit longer before conceding, growling, “Alright! Alright, you win. Give me the damn bacon and I’ll talk.”

Sam smirked as he set down the plates on the table. “Glad to hear you’ve seen reason. Now, what the hell happened the night before that disaster of a breakfast? We both know SOMETHING must have happened that night…” Sam started, staring off into the distance. He knew Dean knew something – he could practically feel the guilt start rolling off of him in waves as he continued to stuff his face – and while he didn’t like to play dirty, if it was for Dean’s long-term happiness, he was willing to do just about anything. And it was pretty clear that Cas would end up being a pretty huge part of Dean’s future happiness – if he could get these idiots to talk about their problems and feelings instead of living neck deep in denial.

He was torn out of that train of thought as Dean cleared his throat. “Well?” Sam asked.

Dean squirmed in his seat before spilling the beans. “I don’t know how it’s possible Cas found out, I was really careful, but…I snuck out of the bunker that night.”

Sam just stared at him. That couldn’t have been it; Cas would have gotten over that by now.

“Jesus, Sam, where’d you go through interrogation training?” Dean quipped, trying desperately to divert Sam from asking any more questions.

“Between watching you and Dad, I learned a lot,” Sam fired back. “Along with learning all your tells. Dean, what else happened that night? We both know that can’t have been it.”

Dean blew out a breath. “I was feeling a little…pent-up, so I hit up the bar to blow off some steam.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dean, tell me you didn’t,” he groaned.

“What, dude?” Dean retorted defensively. “It’s not like I can go out on the pull with Cas right there, and I was feeling really wound up that night, and just… I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time!”

“Except,” Sam snapped, “it clearly wasn’t! Cas must’ve somehow followed you, seen the whole thing – dammit, Dean, you could have just asked me to come with you on a trip to the bar and I would’ve gone with you and left when you said you wanted to hook up! Then Cas wouldn’t have been suspicious and this whole clusterfuck wouldn’t have happened.”

Dean blanched. “I…didn’t even think of that.”

“Yeah, well, luckily I’m the smart brother,” Sam bit out. Feeling bad at Dean’s flinch at the well-aimed (too well-aimed) low blow, he took a deep breath. “And even more luckily, I’m going to figure out how to fix this. You and Cas had a really good thing going there for a while, I’d hate to let your emotional constipation get in the way of that. Just…stay in tonight, alright? I’m going to try and hunt Cas down.”

He left Dean staring into his empty coffee mug, clearly thinking hard. Maybe this would teach him a lesson about communication – Sam doubted it, but hope sprung eternal.

{***}

Getting Cas to talk to him was a miracle the first time, but if there was anything Sam had learned from that experience, it was that the angel was going to need a reason to talk to him; luckily, Sam had a pretty good one.

The next time he and Cas crossed paths in the bunker, Sam pulled him aside. “Cas, do you have a few minutes to talk? I’m worried about Dean.”

Cas hesitated, clearly wary of Sam’s motives while also now worrying about Dean – but before he could say or do anything, Dean came across them in the corridor. Upon seeing them, he performed a full-body flinch, guilt flashing in his eyes, before all but sprinting back the way he came.

Cas’ eyes narrowed, staring after the departing Winchester. “Yes, I think we do need to talk about Dean.”

Out of Cas’ line of sight, Sam smirked. Too easy.

{***}

Castiel wasn’t sure what he was expecting Sam to say, but what he did was not it.

“Cas, I am so sorry for whatever Dean did to hurt you.”

Castiel just blinked at him in confusion.

Getting no response, Sam just barreled on. “Whatever it was – I mean, I think I know what it was – he absolutely feels guilty and – ”

Castiel had to interrupt. “Sam. It wasn’t… it isn’t something Dean should feel guilty about. I’m only trying – ” He cut himself off.

Sam just kept looking at him with gentle, patient eyes. If these were the “puppy eyes” Dean had mentioned… they were indeed formidable. But Cas had been a warrior for millennia; he could handle some pleading eyes.

(He lasted five whole minutes. A new record, for sure, but no one was truly resistant to the puppy eyes. Sam, 1; Cas, 0.)

“I do not believe I am graysexual, Sam.” Sam blinked at the seeming non-sequitur but remained silent. Castiel fidgeted but continued. “I saw Dean leaving the bunker last month, and saw him…kissing. And beginning to fornicate. I was…most disturbed. And when I realized that my distaste was not due to jealousy, but due to the act itself…Sam. I believe I am fully asexual, and as such, cannot be in a relationship with your brother, as much as I might wish to. I am…unsuited to fulfill his needs, and I do not want him to give up a part of himself simply to tie himself to me. No, it would be better for me to let him go, to let him find someone else better suited – although, I may have underestimated how much this action would hurt him, and for that I am truly sorry.” Castiel looked up at Sam beseechingly.

Sam was quiet for a moment, before clearing his throat. “I’m going to tell you a story, Cas, and you’re going to listen to the whole thing before you say anything else. Okay? I don’t know if I can handle any interruptions.”

Castiel nodded, wide-eyed.

Sam took a deep breath. “What feels like forever ago now, but was only a few years earlier, I was attending college at Stanford. I met who I was convinced at the time was the love of my life, Jessica Moore. It was a mutual – well, love at first sight is corny, but I swear that’s the closest I’ve ever been able to get to describing how instant our connection was. But as well as we clicked romantically, Jess had a lot of trouble every time we started any sort of lead up to sex. Eventually she confessed to me that while she loved me, she was attracted to both men and women, and she had no earthly idea what was going on. Neither did I. We were at an impasse, so certain of how much we loved each other but not of much else – until we saw a flyer advertising for the Stanford GSA. We decided to attend, see if anyone there could help us figure out what was going on – and we were so insanely lucky, that someone there did. Jess was attracted to both men and women romantically, but she was only attracted to women sexually – biromantic lesbian, she called herself. So we entered into a relationship knowing that there was never going to be any sex involved – and I have to tell you, Cas, we were happy. We were so happy.”

Sam was silent for a few minutes, before almost visibly shaking off the bittersweet memories. “What I want to say, Cas, is that sexual needs are not the most important aspect to a relationship – Jess and I were perfectly happy without any sex for years; if you explained the situation to Dean, it may not be nearly as hopeless as you think.”

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but Sam cut him off. “I have never seen Dean as happy as he was hanging out with you. Don’t you think that his happiness – and yours – are worth at least a try?”

Cas sagged in defeat. “How do I even begin to explain?” he whispered.

Sam smiled gently. “No worries, Cas. Here’s what you’re going to say…”

{***}

Castiel was nervous, but as Sam had said, he must at least try – to explain, to make one last stand…and possibly even get to keep Dean in his life, as closely as he had dared to dream. All he had to do was talk. He could do this.

He walked into the kitchen, where Dean was emptying yet another bottle of alcohol into his mug. Castiel sighed internally – not the best time to talk to Dean. He would wait until later. He turned to go, but Dean looked up blearily and noticed his presence. He noticeably flinched, but also gestured for Castiel to sit down in front of him – so that’s what Castiel did.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean slurred.

Castiel frowned. “I do not think that now is the best time to talk, Dean, I would prefer –”

“Just say it, Cas! Spit it out. I can handle it, I’m a big boy.”

Castiel hesitated, his prepared speech flying out of his mind, but a phrase Sam had mentioned would probably do the trick. He took a deep breath. “Dean, I know that you are graysexual –”  
Dean growled a bit at that, but let Castiel continue. “– and while I thought I was too, for a little while, I believe I am actually fully asexual.” Before Dean could say anything, Castiel rushed on, “While I know that this could cause some issues – I believe the phrase is, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ applies here –”

In the middle of the sentence, Dean abruptly stood and exited the room, leaving Castiel confused and hurt at this obvious rejection. So much for Sam’s advice.

{***}

Dean couldn’t stay to listen to the rest of what Cas had to stay – he’d given that excuse more than enough times to know that it meant the exact opposite and he just couldn’t sit and listen to Cas lie to his face about how it wasn't whatever was fucked up inside of him that was the matter. Cas was a literal angel, he could not possibly have anything wrong with him. It was always Dean who wasn’t enough, who was broken, who…needed to sleep all of this off. Maybe when he woke up in the morning, it would all be a crazy dream and Cas would be back to his usual self, before their non-argument.

{***}

Sam walked to the kitchen, expecting to see Dean and Cas hashing things out – only to find Dean gone and Cas staring blankly at the wall.

Sam groaned internally but geared himself up to deal with whatever shitstorm Dean had brought about now.

He sat down in Dean’s usual chair, right in Cas’ line of sight. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

Cas just stared at him blankly. “Dean…wanted to listen, at first,” he started. “He was drinking, so I tried to put it off, but he was so insistent, I just started talking. But I think I said something wrong, he left so quickly…”

Sam frowned. “What did you say?”

Cas swallowed. “‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”

Sam was sure his horror was clear on his face for at least a second before he brought it back under control – but a second was more than long enough for Cas to notice. “…I should not have used that phrase. I see.”

Sam swallowed nervously. “It’s just…Dean has never taken hearing that excuse well, he’s used it himself enough times – I mean…argh.” Sam ruffled his hands in his hair for a minute. “I could have sworn I warned you against using it, but maybe not. Okay, I just need to talk to Dean after he wakes up – ”

Cas just smiled gently at Sam, tearing his train of thought away from Dean. “It’s okay, Sam. I tried to talk to Dean, and it went so badly – what is that, if not a sign that this isn’t the right path? I will be fine, and Dean will too – he will find someone better suited than me. Thank you for your help, Sam, but I think it’s time you let it go. I have, and Dean will, in time.” And with that, Cas stood up and flew off.

Sam could almost hear the snap of his patience finally breaking. This was war, and he was damn well going to win – these two were going to fucking talk like the adults they were, and he was going to lock them in a (metaphorical) closet until they did.

{***}

According to what Cas had told him, Dean was probably sleeping off the alcohol in his room – and dead to the world, at least for now. No time like the present. Sam headed down to Dean’s room and got to work. He covered the walls in angel-trapping sigils, ensuring that the doors into the room were also decorated. He also made sure he left ibuprofen and water for when Dean woke up. Time to write some letters and then go find Cas.

{***}

Castiel was surprised to hear a prayer from Sam, but quickly fluttered down to see what was going on. He was taken aback by the evident worry in Sam’s eyes. “Dean’s not waking up, I don’t know what happened – ”

Sam didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, Castiel just grabbed his arm and flew him to Dean’s room which, he sensed faintly, contained Dean’s energy. He rushed over to Dean’s prone form, focused solely on his ill health – only to realize, as the door to the room slammed shut, that Dean was perfectly fine. Sam had lied. Furious, Cas tried to fly out of the room – only to see the sigils on the wall and realize he was well and truly trapped. Damn these Winchesters and their ability to manipulate his emotions!

Castiel heard a scrape by the door, and turned to look – a small pile of paper was being pushed in the slot between the floor and the door. He ran over to grab them, close enough to hear Sam’s sigh. “I know you’re pissed Cas, and rightfully so, but hopefully these will clear things up for the both of you and you’ll realize how happy you could be, if you just let yourselves.”

And Castiel heard his footsteps head off, growing fainter with every step.

Castiel sighed, his anger ebbing away. He supposed he had some reading to do while Dean continued his alcohol-induced slumber.

{***}

Dear Cas,

I know you’re upset with me, and I don’t blame you – but you and Dean deserve the chance to be totally honest with each other, to give each other the chance to explain; the chance neither of you have really given the other. Now, you have no choice.

After Dean reads his letter, I think he’ll have a lot to say to you. And just promise me you’ll listen with an open mind – after everything, he deserves that at least. He might surprise you.

Sam

Castiel blinked. Well, that was a lot shorter than he expected, compared to Dean’s multi-sheeted letter – but, Castiel realized, he had done a lot more talking with Sam recently than he had ever seen Dean do; perhaps he already had the information he needed. Castiel sat back and reviewed his conversations with Sam from this new perspective – until he was jolted out of his thoughts by Dean’s groaned awakening.

{***}

Dean woke up with a surprisingly bad hangover. Luckily, there was plenty of ibuprofen and water within reach. Unluckily, Dean noticed through bleary eyes, the reason for his hangover (or, at least, the reason for the drinking that led to the hangover) was sitting nearby. In his room. What the hell? “Caaaaaaas,” Dean groaned. (No matter what Cas and/or Sam said, he never whined. Never.) “Can’t a guy get some privacy? In my own goddamn room?” Cas just stared at him. “If I could leave I would, Dean,” he finally replied. “However, Sam has made sure I cannot – I believe he explains why in that letter.” Cas inclined his head toward the packet on the bedside table, sitting unnoticed until now next to the water and ibuprofen.

Dean groaned, internally and externally – he was not awake enough for this shit. But he pulled himself together and started reading the explanation Sam had left for him – and it damn well better have been good.

{***}

Dear Dean,

I know you’re upset with me, and I don’t blame you – but you and Cas deserve the chance to be totally honest with each other, to give each other the chance to explain; the chance neither of you have really given the other. Now, you have no choice.

So you and Cas can actually have a productive conversation: Cas saw you and whoever hooking up when you snuck out. I don’t know how, but he did. It made him realize that he wasn’t interested in sex and very unlikely to become interested – which, to him, meant he wasn’t someone you could be with, since you like having sex. That’s what he meant when he said “it’s not you, it’s me.” He really does think there’s something about him that means you two could never have a successful relationship. He thought that it would be best to pull away now – thinks he’s sparing both you and himself some pain.

Before you knee-jerk agree – like you tend to – I want to tell you something. Something that I probably should have told you earlier, but…well. It’s private, a little raw for me and I wasn’t sure how you would react…but I think you knowing might help with the situation you and Cas find yourselves in.

I know I told you about Jess and I visiting the GSA at Stanford…but I wasn’t entirely honest as to why. We went in hopes of figuring out a problem we had – we were both deeply in love with one another, there was no doubt at all when it came to that, but even though Jess mentally wanted to at least try having sex, she felt incredibly uncomfortable every time we tried. I didn’t care, I loved her more than I wanted sex, but for Jess…it was her body shutting down something she thought she wanted for no reason she could figure out, and she wanted to know what was going on. Like I mentioned, someone there was asexual and when he talked to Jess, we figured out that romantic and sexual attraction are two different things and so even though she was romantically attracted to me, she wasn’t sexually attracted to me. It explained a lot for her, and for me – like I said, it didn’t matter. She was more important than sex, and when urges arose, I just took care of it myself. And we were happy Dean, really happy.

I think you and Cas might be able to have something like Jess and I did, if you actually talk to Cas, listen to what he has to say and remember – I’ve never seen you as happy as you have been when you were “hanging out” with Cas (you were dating him, just admit it) and what you guys have might be worth more than some sexual urges. Just something to think about.

Luckily, you and Cas will have plenty of time to think and talk. Take the time, dude – this is too important to screw up. I’ll be back to check on you 12 hours from when Cas came in.

Remember: He likes you, he just thinks that his aversion to sex is the death knoll for any potential relationship with you. I don’t think that’s the case – if it is, just tell him so, Dean, and shoot me a text so I know to let you out now – and if that’s not the case: TALK TO HIM. AND LISTEN TO HIM. (You can do both, you know.)

Sam

{***}

Castiel stayed quiet as Dean read through the pages Sam had left for him, the rustling of turning pages the only sound in the room. He waited for Dean to read what he assumed was a letter detailing his deficiencies as a romantic partner for Dean – ones Sam seemed to think were not obstacles, but Castiel knew better – and inevitably reject him. He kept calm on the outside, even as the tension in his gut coiled tighter and tighter.

{***}

Dean knew he had a lot to process – Jess and Sam hadn’t slept together? Cas was ace?? Cas didn’t hate him??? – but it was hard to think with his hangover headache pounding away. He put down the letter and rubbed his temples, grimacing and wishing he could take more ibuprofen…but he had already taken too many; any more could get dangerous.

The next thing he knew, thanks to Cas’ healing powers, he was blessedly (ha) headache-free. Looking up at Cas to thank him, Dean noticed all the symbols on the walls – Sam wasn’t kidding, neither of them were going anywhere. If Sam had figured out a way to trap Cas, there was no way he hadn’t figured out how to block Dean from exiting any normal human way; damn his sadistically ingenious little brother.

If they weren’t going anywhere…Dean gulped. Sam’s letter made it clear – if he could just work up the courage to talk to Cas, to listen to what Cas had to say afterwards… he might actually get everything he wanted. Or, at least the vast majority of what he wanted. Which certainly was better odds than usual for him.

He just…had to talk about his emotions. And sex. With Cas. Without dying from embarrassment.

He could totally do this.

{***}

Castiel wasn’t sure Dean actually could talk about his emotions, despite what Sam had said in his letter. It had been almost half an hour since Sam had locked him into Dean’s room, and Dean had woken up a little less than ten minutes after his entrapment – and yet, Dean still hadn’t said a word. He had – and was – still trying, that much was obvious; but at the last second, Dean couldn’t seem to actually make any coherent sounds, just exhalations and grumbles.

Perhaps…if Castiel started?

{***}

Dean was almost at the point where he could actually start talking to Cas (he was, dammit, he was a grown-ass adult and there’s no way he had been sitting in silence with Cas for almost twenty minutes, that would be insane…) but Cas ended up saying something first.

“Dean…”

There were so many emotions, so many questions, just in that one word. And Dean couldn’t let them go unanswered; he HAD to say something. He couldn’t leave Cas hanging like that. So he took a deep breath, and let the emotional words start pouring out. 

“I’m not…I’m not like Sam. I don’t understand this whole ‘out and proud’ thing, that was never an option for me – Dad…Dad was not an open-minded guy. And I know, Sam probably told you that…but I made sure Sam never knew the full story.”

Dean swallowed hard, unable to meet Cas’ eyes as he told this secret. “Dad did find out once that I was seeing a guy, he saw us holding hands on our way back home and he…chased him off, before beating the shit out of me. He was drunk, I don’t even know if he ever remembered he did it…but I did. I told Sammy I had been jumped by kids at school…I couldn’t tell him Dad did it, how the hell could I? I could barely believe it myself. But he did, and I had to make sure that never happened again – and that he never hurt Sam like that. Ever.”

Dean took a deep breath, then steeled himself to continue. “I’m not saying I’m perfect, Cas – fuck, I’m probably just about the farthest from it I can be and still be sane – but, if you’re still interested, I would date the shit out of you. We could just – hang out more, call them the dates they are, go see more places, do more activities, eat more good food, try more new things – and maybe cuddle at night, hug more, kiss; whatever you want, Cas, I’ll give you. I can deal with not having sex; I can’t deal with not having you in my life.”

Cas was quiet for longer than Dean would like, but he couldn’t meet Cas’ eyes and see what was going through his mind; he couldn’t bear to see if he was about to be rejected, as he still feared.

Slowly, Cas asked, “You’re sure? That giving up sex is not…a hardship? Too much to give in exchange for just…me?”

Dean exhaled and stared right into Cas’ eyes. “Listen up Cas, this is God’s honest truth – sex is good, it scratches a momentary itch, but getting to spend time with you? Cas, that’s so far from good; it’s fucking amazing. I can go without sex, I can’t go without you. Sam was right, I was the happiest I’ve ever been hanging out with you, and when we stopped I was fucking miserable. You are so much more important than meaningless sex with a stranger, I can’t even tell you. And I’m not saying this relationship is going to be easy, we’re going to have to figure out boundaries and make sure that I’m not making you uncomfortable or vice versa. It’s going to take time to figure out, but damn Cas, when we do it’s going to be fantastic.”

He held out his hand, pleading in his eyes. “Don’t you want to be with me? Don’t you want to see how fantastic we can be together?”

Cas reached out, grabbing his hand and yanking him into a hug, face buried in his shoulder in a useless attempt to stem his tears. “Yes,” he choked out, overwhelmed at this wonderful human and the second chance he had been given. “Yes, yes, yes.”

And they stayed in that position for a long time. (And if Dean teared up a bit, nobody else needed to know. Or judge. It was a really emotional moment, dammit, he was allowed to be a little leaky.)

{***}

Sam waited until he heard low voices coming from Dean’s room; he knew once Dean and Cas started talking, he wouldn’t be getting a text from Dean to let them out. (Eventually they would realize that the sigils weren’t in permanent marker, but spray-painted – easily scratched off by human hands – and he had made sure Dean still had his lockpicks, so they could leave – and indeed, could have left – at any time. Sam just had to make them think they were stuck to force their hand.) He took the opportunity to leave the bunker, for once without company – the angels were far more concerned with Dean than anyone who was with him, he could still fly under the radar. And with Dean and Cas finding their happy ending, Sam was tempted to see if he could find one of his own – so he was off to Beacon, New York, to see if a certain art auctioneer would be free to have a drink and catch up…and maybe more.

{***}

When he arrived at the auction house – still as pretentious and imposing as ever – it was pretty late, but he noticed there was still a car in the parking lot; Sarah’s car. The lights were on in the building, so Sam thought he would take a chance that Sarah might be inside rather than her father.

And indeed, after his knock, it was Sarah who came to the door – brandishing a hammer, of all things, but she quickly flung it aside when she realized who it was, wrapping her arms around Sam in an impulsive hug and holding him tight. Sam hugged her back, jokingly asking if she was alright – not expecting her to sniffle out a “yes,” followed by a “no” and then full-on sobbing. He quickly shepherded her inside, sat her down and rustled up some water – he couldn’t find a kettle, or he would have made her tea. As it was, he handed her the water and ran a soothing hand down her back as she took sips between deep breaths. Clearly, something had happened – and no way Sam was going to leave without figuring out what was going on. He texted Dean a quick update (At Sarah’s, she’s upset, have to figure out what’s going on before I can leave – pick the lock when you and Cas are ready to get out, lock picks should be in the drawer of your nightstand.) and settled in for a night of soothing Sarah before any explanations on either end could be made.

After she had stopped crying and visibly gathered herself, she asked hoarsely, “What are you doing here, Sam?”

He grimaced. “I was…sort of in the area and I was going to ask you out for drinks sometime tomorrow, but it looks like now isn’t exactly the best time.”

She shook her head, and Sam felt like a total jerk. “Maybe…maybe I should go,” he muttered, starting to pull away, but stopped when Sarah grabbed his hand before it could leave her shoulder.

“Please, please don’t.” She gulped. “I… it’s been a hard year, but I think you deserve an explanation from me… and I definitely need a better one from you than ‘I was in the area.’” She smirked weakly. “I didn’t think you could offer any weaker excuses than the ones you did last time, but wow, Sam, I think that one takes the cake.”

Sam chuckled, glad to hear her cracking jokes again. “Admittedly, I did travel straight here from somewhere else, but it’s not important as to why right now – what’s going on with you? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sarah scoffed. “Any way you know how to turn back time?” Sam shook his head.

She laughed bitterly. “I thought not, but worth a try.” She took a deep breath. “My dad…he passed away almost a year ago – completely out of the blue, random heart attack. All of a sudden I’m left with a business that I don’t really want to run, but I have to; somehow the bills just keep stacking higher and higher. I’m up to my eyeballs in stress, and it just keeps getting worse… I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Sam,” she whispered, clearly overwhelmed.

Sam grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Sarah, I’m so sorry.” She sniffed, quietly laying her head on his shoulder and absorbing some of his warmth. He scooped her up and started carrying her up the stairs, to where he knew she and her father had renovated a guest room for overnight stays. “I know everything seems bleak right now, but why don’t you get some sleep, and we’ll figure out what to do next in the morning, alright?”

Sarah blinked tiredly up at him, absolutely exhausted between the stress of the past year and Sam’s sudden appearance. “You promise you’ll be here tomorrow morning? No sneaking out in the dead of night?” she mumbled.

Sam smiled down at her. “Of course not,” he assured, as he laid her down on the bed and shucked off her shoes. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning and for as long as you need me,” he promised as she crawled under the covers. “I’m not going to leave you to face this alone.”

Sarah looked up at him trustingly. “Stay until I fall asleep?” she asked quietly.

“Absolutely.” And he sat by her bed until she finally did, after which he got as much of his body on the couch in the next room as he could before succumbing to sleep himself. They’d deal with everything in the morning.

{***}

Sam woke up the next morning pretty early, but apparently not as early as Sarah, who had already made scrambled eggs, eaten her share, and was feverishly washing dishes when Sam stepped into the little kitchen. Sam yawned, sitting down in the chair in front of the plate still full of eggs. He was about to dig in when he noticed that Sarah’s laptop was open on the table. “Did you get in some research this morning?” Sam asked.

Sarah turned around sheepishly. “I woke up really early,” she admitted, “and I wanted to get some stuff moving, so I was looking into some possible jobs I could do after I finally sell Dad’s business – I know I’m not ready to stop working with art, even if I’m really, really done with this particular aspect of it.”

Sam hesitated, then asked, “Were you only looking at openings locally?”

Sarah turned back to the dishes. “Yep. Unless, there’s another place you think I should be looking?”

Sam smiles back sheepishly. “Um…maybe Lebanon, Kansas?”

Sarah giggles. “Is that the super-secret location of your Batcave?”

Sam blinked at her back, not exactly sure how to respond. The bunker wasn’t exactly a Batcave, but Dean had referred to it as such a couple times…

Sarah whirled around. “Oh my god, I was kidding! You’re telling me you actually have a Batcave??”

Sam smirked. “Well, if you ask Dean, then yes, we have a Batcave. Mostly we just call it the bunker, though.”

Sarah just stared. “You two have a secret bunker. In the middle of Kansas. What the hell.”

Sam laughed. “I know, right? What the hell is our life.” He paused, then continued, “And living in the bunker, settled down…it’s been sort of a fresh start, no more living out of motels and the car, actually having a home…there are plenty of extra rooms in the bunker – or apartments in the city, I’m sure, if that’s what you’d prefer! – but maybe looking at jobs in Lebanon and moving out there, giving yourself a fresh start and being able to sell both the business and your house…” Sam trailed off.

Sarah just stared. “I…never really thought about that, but I bet between selling the business and selling the house and most of the stuff in it, that would just about cover all the bills and debts that’ve been piling up.” She sat back down at the table in front of her computer, clearly lost in thought, before Sam cleared his throat.

“If you found an already-furnished apartment in Lebanon, you wouldn’t need to move furniture, you could just pack up whatever you wanted to keep in the Impala and your car and we could drive to Lebanon without needing to really move you out with a truck.”

Sarah nodded slowly. “There is someone who’s been trying to buy the business off of me, but I was worried about taking them up on their offer and not having anything to do afterwards, just sit around in the home both Mom and Dad died in…”

Sam took her hand gently. “Then maybe the first order of business is to get in contact with them, listen to their offer, while I see if there’s any art jobs in Lebanon that could use your skills.”

Sarah smiled in relief. “Sounds like a plan.”

{***}

The new owner of the Beacon art auctioning business was so excited that Sarah had finally reached out about selling – she was a recently retired art history professor who was already getting bored and wanted to do something new – that she offered Sarah a much more generous deal than she had originally proposed. When Sarah tried to protest, the older woman sighed. “My dear, you’ve had a lot of tragedy in your life, especially within the past few years – let me do what I can to help ease your burden.” Sarah sniffled a little, overcome by the woman’s empathy and generosity, before agreeing and thanking her profusely. 

When she came back into the kitchen, Sam was practically thrumming with excitement. “So get this,” he exclaimed, “the local college has an art museum and it’s looking for a new art curator – main responsibilities are procuring and presenting art for public viewing – which you have plenty of experience with – and also that you might be asked to give tours to interested parties – you know, students or other visitors – and possibly guest lecture at the college. Sarah, this sounds almost tailor-made for you!”

Sarah beamed at him. “Oh my god, Sam, you’re absolutely right, this sounds perfect! Do we have contact information for the art museum? I’d love to schedule a visit, so I can see what I’m going to be in for.”

“Yeah, here – ” Sam showed her the phone number.

“Wonderful,” Sarah chirped, kissing Sam on the cheek. “Let me go make the call while you finish your eggs. Might want to throw them in the microwave,” she called as she left the room. Sam just smiled, happy she seemed to be doing so much better and happy that he could be a part of putting that smile on her face.

{***}

After doing what Sarah had suggested and heating up his eggs again, Sam looked into apartments in Lebanon, looking for already furnished ones close to the art museum… he’d have to ask Sarah if she wanted to share rent with a roommate (and he noticed that the bunker was pretty close to the art museum as well, but he didn’t want to pressure her) – and right as he thought that, Sarah walked back in, slightly dazed look on her face. “Everything okay?” Sam asked, starting to rise from his chair.

Sarah just waved him back down, sitting down herself and laughing a little hysterically. “Everything’s great, Sam. Holy crap, I can’t believe it.”

Sam tilted his head questioningly. Sarah snickered. “Alright, you giant puppy – it turns out the gentleman who answered the phone…was the current museum curator. And when I mentioned why I wanted to come visit the museum, he wanted to ask some questions, understandably – and apparently, he’s ‘very impressed’ with my ‘quick wit,’ my knowledge of art history, and my ‘professional but engaging’ conversational skills. He said that I was a vivacious and capable young woman, and he’s planning to tell the hiring department to watch out for my application, because I’m his favorite applicant so far, certainly the only one that’s actually wanted to see the museum we would be in charge of curating. Sam, I think I actually have a really good chance of getting this job!” She paused. “Crap, I need to work on my application – my resume needs updating, a cover letter…”

Sam cracked his knuckles. “Luckily for you, I helped out at Stanford’s career center for a while and literally bullshit for a living. Let’s get started.”

{***}

As Sam helped Sarah update her resume and craft a great cover letter, he was reminded of his years at Stanford and, compared to where he was now… he started thinking about his own future. What if, like Bobby, Sam started up a hunter network and only went hunting on special occasions? Cas had expressed an interest in hunting, what if he started going out on hunts with Dean instead of Sam? Even if Cas was a novice at hunting, he was an angel – he had been fighting for millennia before Dean and Sam were even born, he could handle himself fine. And his angelic powers would be more of an asset to Dean in the field than Sam could ever be. Dean might not see it that way, but Sam was suddenly determined. If he could talk to Bobby, work out the logistics and get Cas on his side… maybe Dean wouldn’t freak out. Maybe. One step at a time – Bobby first.

{***}

While Sarah was off packing and meeting with the realtor about the quickest way to get her house on the market – something Sam offered to be a part of, but Sarah quickly shooed him off – Sam decided to take advantage of the quiet to call Bobby. Bobby’s familiar gruff greeting made Sam smile; he had missed Bobby more than he had realized. So even though Sam had a plan, his traitor mouth absolutely blew it by going in a completely unsubtle direction: “Hey Bobby, how would you like to move into the bunker?” Dead silence.

“Boy, you been drinkin’?” was his incredulous reply.

Sam sighed. Time to wing it. “Well, I was thinking about – maybe – with all the materials at the bunker, taking more of a hunter’s network role, kinda like you do; and I wondered it you might want to come down to the bunker for a few weeks, teach me the ropes and help me set up, maybe?”

Bobby was silent for a few minutes, Sam biting his lip anxiously as he waited for Bobby’s reply. “Dean’s not going to like this,” he finally uttered, to Sam’s dismay.

“You let me handle Dean,” he responded with entirely false bravado. “I just want to know – do you think I can do it?”

Bobby sighed. “Balls, boy, you’d be damn great! And…I have been thinking about taking a break, letting a younger hunter take over. I just never thought you’d offer, too busy hunting with Dean.”

Sam couldn’t help it – he chuckled. “I think Dean’s found a better hunting partner, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Sam could practically hear the raised eyebrow Bobby must have had. “You mean, the angel? Castiel?”

Sam grinned. “The one and only.”

Bobby blew out a breath. “Damn, no wonder you’re so eager to set up. Alright, how about this – Rufus has been whining about his bones not liking the roaming life so much lately, so how about I take you up on your offer – I’ll move into the bunker, bringing as much of my library as I can fit in whatever room’s left, and Rufus can take over the junkyard – give him something to do when he’s not hunting. Everyone wins.”

Sam was speechless. “Bobby…are you sure? That’s…”

“Nothing I wasn’t planning to do anyway, eventually,” Bobby interrupted gruffly. “So are you in or what?”

Sam beamed. “Bobby, that would be perfect! I’m a little tied up here in Beacon, but I’ll let you know when I’m back in Kansas, and we can figure out how we’re going to transport your library – how’s that sound?”

Bobby was quiet for a bit before asking, “…Beacon? Like where Sarah lives? Is that what brought along this whole idea of semi-retirement, Sam?”

Sam could hear the smirk in his voice and wanted to retort…but he really had nothing. “Shut up,” he mumbled, face flaming as Bobby cackled in his ear.

“Oh, I definitely want to meet this girl,” he chuckled. “Talk to you soon.” He then hung up, his laughter audible for a second before being cut off.

Sam grumbled a little, but he was still grinning. That had gone much better than expected.

{***}

And after Sarah was packed up in the two cars and moved into an apartment just a couple blocks from her new job (…and not too far from the bunker, Sam noted), Sam had nothing left to distract him: he needed to talk to Cas about his semi-retirement without letting Dean know. Sam wasn’t ready for the fight that conversation was going to dissolve into. Hopefully getting Cas on his side first would help.

And speaking of, Cas had just walked through the door of the kitchen… sans Dean, for once. Sam took the opportunity that had practically fallen in his lap. “Cas? Do you have a minute?”

Cas sat down. “Of course.”

Sam took a deep breath. “So, Cas… how would you feel about hunting with Dean?” The word vomit tactic had worked with Bobby, why not try it again?

Cas blinked at him in confusion. “I thought it was always you and Dean who went out hunting together?”

Sam stared down at the tabletop. “I…have been thinking about not doing that, going forward. I want to take more of a hunter’s network role, like what Bobby does – doing research, answering phone calls, making phone calls; but I can’t let Dean go out there alone. So, I thought, maybe…what if you went with him, instead? You’d get a chance to learn more about hunting, Dean would have backup, and you two would get more time to spend together. So? What do you think?”

{***}

What Sam didn’t know was that Dean had walked into the doorway of the kitchen at the beginning of his little speech – and was struck dumb by what was coming out of his little brother’s mouth. Sammy didn’t want to hunt with him anymore? Why?

But before he could open his mouth to ask, Cas saw him and immediately gestured for him to stay quiet (none of which Sam saw, due to his hanging head).

Cas, seeing the question in Dean’s eyes, decided to voice it for him. “Is there a reason why you’ve decided this, Sam?”

Sam blew out a breath. “Sarah’s moving to Lebanon, and I… I want to be there for her. I can’t do that if I’m constantly driving around on hunts. And this way…this way, everybody wins. I’m still helping with hunting, Bobby can retire here to help out, you get to learn how to hunt and Dean…Dean gets to keep hunting, doing what he loves, without me getting distracted by Sarah.” He paused. “I know… I know Dean isn’t going to like hearing this. Hell, he’s going to be pissed. And I don’t blame him. But this, this is important to me – Sarah is important to me – and I want to do this right, for all of us. I really think this is the best solution…even if Dean won’t like it.”

Cas stared at Dean over Sam’s still-bowed head, eyebrows raised. Dean groaned internally; of course he wasn’t pissed at his brother. He probably would have been, he had to admit, if he had just heard whatever Sam had planned to say to him without context; but hearing Sam lay it all out like that? Just wanting to be there for Sarah, a kickass girl who deserved all the attention Sam wanted to give her? Hell, he’d have to have a heart of stone not to support that. So apparently it was time to reassure his little brother that everything was going to be just fine; all part of the big brother package.

“I might not love hearing it, Sammy, but if it’s that important to you? It’s fine by me.”

{***}

Sam whirled around at the sound of his brother’s voice, heart hammering. Dean had heard? Oh shit, Dean had heard him say that he didn’t want to keep hunting? Dean was going to…not get pissed. By some bizarre miracle, Dean wasn’t mad. What…what was going on?

“You’re…not mad?” he asked slowly.

He wasn’t expecting the sudden hair ruffle, shoving his bangs into his eyes that were suddenly swimming with unshed tears. “Of course not, bitch,” Dean snarked. “How can I be, after hearing that you’re more worried about taking care of me, Sarah and Bobby than you are about anything else? I think it’s a great idea. Cas and I will keep hunting, you’ll hold down the fort here, and Bobby’ll come out of retirement when you and Sarah have a date night. Sounds pretty awesome to me.”

Sam smiled, blinking back tears. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

{***}

And it was.

Bobby moved in a couple weeks later, bringing his extensive library (setting it up in one of the larger unused storage rooms) and a new assortment of labeled phones to continue acting as a head of the FBI and other authoritative roles (Sam’s voice not convincing enough to take over yet). After only a couple weeks, other than answering the phones, Bobby was able to leave everything to Sam and just enjoy reading through the bunker’s archives, heading out on the occasional hunt when he felt like it.

After a few years at the college art gallery, Sarah decided to move on from the position of curator there and instead open her own art gallery in Lebanon, showcasing work from anyone whose work met her exacting standards, from high school and college students to local artists in whatever medium they chose. (She also moved out of her apartment and into the bunker, much to Sam’s delight – and hers, once she realized Dean’s skills in the kitchen meant she no longer had to cook.)

Cas was always good at being Dean’s backup, but he got better at hunting – enough that, every now and then, he went out on hunts alone. The first time he did, he came back with a teenager named Jack Kline. A murderer claiming he had been sent by Lucifer ritually sacrificed Jack’s mother in front of him, and was about to do the same to Jack when Cas burst in and finally stopped the man he had been chasing across town for the last week. Jack had been deep in shock, seeing the bloody mess that had been made of his childhood home, and Cas couldn’t leave him behind. He brought him to the bunker for a change of scenery – a chance to heal from his wounds – but instead, Jack got practically adopted by Sam. They took great pleasure in discussing supernatural lore, as did Bobby, and next thing Cas knew not only was Jack a part of the hunter network, he and Dean were bonding over fishing and grilling burgers; Jack was here to stay.

{***}

As much crap as Dean gave Cas for “picking up a stray” while out on a hunt, the next time Dean went out on a hunt, he came back with two – Claire and Kaia, teenage runaways from abusive and neglectful homes (Kaia from the former, Claire from the latter) who had teamed up on the street, but for some reason had attracted the attention of the angels. Dean didn’t have the chance to ask why; he came across the angels cornering the girls in an alleyway and reacted instinctively, stabbing the first angel in the back with one hand while forming the angel banishing sigil with the other and activating it before the second angel had a chance to react.

After that, he had to take the girls back to the bunker with the angel-proof warding – they wouldn’t have been safe anywhere else. Both girls were wary of him, but since he had just saved their lives from the thing that had hunted them down in multiple cities, they were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt…for the moment. Claire looked about ready to bolt when Cas had come out to meet Dean at the car (apparently he was the spitting image of her father, who had run away and left her mother retreating within herself and unable to take care of her daughter), but Kaia convinced her to give them a chance. And indeed, the residents of the bunker took great care of them, enough so that they decided to stay: Claire taking up hunting with Dean and Cas while Kaia was happy to stay behind and assist Bobby with his newest project, translating the multitude of paper resources into digital copies for easier distribution and access in an increasingly digital world.

{***}

There were other teenagers and children who visited the bunker over the years, but only Jack, Claire and Kaia stayed and made it their home. For the other young people, the bunker was a safe haven until they could continue their lives in the outside world; a haven staffed by incredibly attractive people, in many of their eyes – and every once in a while, one of them plucked up the courage to actually hit on their chosen target: whether it was Sam, with his gorgeous eyes, luxurious hair and jaw-dropping height; Sarah, with her kind manner, beaming smile and quick wit; Dean, with his shockingly green eyes and ability to treat these scared youngsters like the adults they wanted to be; or Cas, with his beautiful blue eyes and (intoxicating) habit of focusing his entire attention on whoever was speaking to him. All of them fielded flirtations ranging from the adorable (Sam, Cas and Dean all received children’s scribbles depicting them as superheroes – so many, in fact, that they had an entire wall in the bunker’s main room dedicated to displaying them) to the amazing (Sarah receiving a teenager’s bouquet of blown glass flowers, a beautiful piece of art that still sat in the art gallery, years after the gifting) to the absolutely crude, as Cas was receiving right now from their latest charge (much to Dean’s teeth-grinding chagrin).

“Hey handsome,” purred the boy (who couldn’t have been a day over nineteen), “wanna make a sausage sandwich?”

Cas just blinked at him, confused but also vaguely remembering a similar sentiment from years before – but before he could reply, Dean stepped in front of him and snapped, “He’s taken, kid.”

The boy blinked, gave Dean a blatant once-over, and smiled wolfishly. “I could absolutely work with that.”

Dean flushed beet red, and Cas – possessive over Dean’s blushes, which were few and far between – immediately flew them to his room (which they now shared) and away from the annoying child who had managed to bring on Dean’s blush when Cas hadn’t been able to do so in months.

Once they had safely arrived, Cas sat Dean down on their bed. “Dean, what did he mean about a ‘sausage sandwich’? Why did it make you blush? And does it have anything to do with the last time you hooked up at the bar, with that man who offered to fill your ‘buns’ with –” Dean threw a hand over Cas’ mouth, unable to listen to Cas finish that sentence. Cas just quirked a questioning eyebrow at him.

Dean blew out a sigh. He had to just rip off the band-aid. “The sausage is your dick.”

Cas just stared at Dean, processing, before wrinkling his nose in disgust. “So when that man offered a sausage filling –”

Dean cleared his throat, blushing even harder. “Yep, his dick in my ass, aka buns.”

Cas just shook his head. Dean didn’t understand why, but his mouth kept moving. “They’re called pick-up lines, and not all of them are gross like that.”

Cas tilted his head, quietly asking for an example.

Dean smirked, grabbing Cas’ hands and pulling him close. “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Because eyes like that can only belong to an angel.”

Rather than laugh, or take the line seriously, as Dean had expected, for the first time ever, Dean watched a flush work its way across Cas’ face. “Are…are you blushing?” Dean asked incredulously. Cas immediately shook his head, turning his head away to try and hide it.

Dean grinned. “You are, oh my god, you are too freaking ado–” Cas tackled him to the bed before he could finish that sentence, muffling Dean’s laughter with kisses.

The two of them never could have imagined any sort of happy ending for themselves a few years previous, but now? Now that they were together, they knew the days stretching before them could be nothing short of perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is accompanied by the BEAUTIFUL art by @cenedrariva, and can be found here: https://cenedras-art.tumblr.com/post/187512364138/a-stormy-sea-of-moving-emotions-by-aerica13-part


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